Have You Never Watched Animal Planet?
by Sebe
Summary: Scott's woken up to an at-the-end-of-his-rope, annoyed Stiles and, finally completely understands how frustrating it can be to be the friend who just doesn't get something that's right in front of them. Bromance of Scott and Stiles with background Sterek. OR There are dead animals on his shoes and in his driveway and Stiles would like to know why


Author's Notes: I'm thinking post alpha pack. Everyone's come together as pack/family and with immediate threats gone, other…issues, are free to come up. Mainly Scott/Stiles Friendship with developing Sterek.

Summary: Scott's woken up to an at-the-end-of-his-rope, annoyed Stiles and, finally completely understands how frustrating it can be to be the friend who just doesn't get something that's right in front of them. Bromance of Scott and Stiles with background Sterek.

OR

There are dead animals on his shoes and in his driveway and Stiles would like to know why.

**Have You Never Watched Animal Planet?**

Scott blearily fumbles for the phone, hearing Stiles' ringtone. He's gotten better at answering lately. They've all gotten better actually, at everything.

The pack was more comfortable with each other now. Hell, they really were _pack_ now. No bristling or rebuttals at the term from any of them. It was good. They were good. That doesn't keep the fatigue or mild irritation from Scott's voice though.

"'ello?"

"This is your problem. He's your alpha, so your problem." Stiles' voice is moving at that clip that indicates too much (or too little) medication and general frustration. Scott knows he's pacing back and forth, gesturing vividly with his hands. "So why is your problem, literally, on my doorstep?"

Scott frowns, confused, but still refusing to open his eyes.

"What?"

"You need to talk to Derek. I know it's him. Growl at him or something before I find a giant newspaper to roll up and beat the crap outta him with it."

"…What did he do?"

"Last week, there was a dead squirrel on the front porch on one of my shoes. Great. Fine. Over affectionate neighborhood cat, moving on." Plausible. Because Stiles couldn't help but feed the strays. Even took them in when it got cold out. Cats, dogs, werewolves, didn't seem to matter. If something was shivering or its stomach was growling, Stiles would be the one to throw a blanket over it and hit it in the head with a sandwich. _'Eat it, idiot!'_ Well, no one said he was gentle about it.

"Two days later; rabbit. Bugs Bunny lying dead on the front step. _Aggressive_ over affectionate cat? Still fine, but no! Cause the next morning, my dad calls me downstairs. He's back to looking at me like I'm a serial killer, even after we all went and had that nice little 'werewolves are a thing' talk, because there are about a dozen small woodland creatures splayed across the deck. Squirrels, ducks, bunnies, mice…Seriously, it's like an assortment of awfulness."

Scott knows something. He finally knows something Stiles doesn't, but he's not going to tell him. Where would the fun be? Plus it's not his place. But they all know and this is getting ridiculous. He thinks, _'Come on, Stiles. You're the smart one. You're so close. What comes in assortments? Flowers? Candy in those little heart-shaped boxes?' _

"And then?" Scott prompts because he knew all this already. Stiles had been pretty freaked about it. The Sheriff hadn't been exactly happy either.

"And then," Stiles hisses in the tone of _'why aren't you as disturbed about this as I am?'_ "This morning I couldn't get the Jeep out of the driveway because a deer, a friggin' giant antler-having stag, is lying right behind it! And what the hell is so funny?!"

Scott tried to smother it. He really did, but jesus, a deer?! Derek's getting desperate…

"I know it's that idiot alpha of yours. What the hell?! I thought we'd gotten over this whole subterfuge of 'I want to kill you' a while ago."

'_Oh no,'_ Scott thought _'You just alternate now between that and-'_ He shook his head to clear away the beginning of things he didn't like to think about anyone wanting to do with Stiles. Or Stiles wanting to do with anyone. Especially…

Scott made a noise of near physical pain and slapped a hand over his eyes.

"Scott? Hello!"

"He's not threatening you." Scott groaned. "And you know he's not going to listen to anything I say. Why don't you talk to him?"

"Because he might be feeling a little homicidal in my general direction if recent happenings are any indication!" _'You idiot'_, is tacked on by tone.

"He's not going to kill you. He doesn't want to kill you. Just go talk to him." _'Please, please go talk to him so this painfully obvious dance you two are doing can be over and I don't have to think about it anymore'._

Except what if he did? What if Stiles and Derek did finally talk and yell this all out? What if they ended up being one of those TMI couples or the ones that were way to affectionate in public? An image appeared in Scott's head of Stiles lying across Derek's lap in the middle of the room and there was nuzzling-

"Beh!" Scott made an abortive noise of distress, flailing and falling out of bed.

"Did you just fall out of bed?" They knew each other too well. "Scott-"

"Just-" Scott rubbed where his head had thwacked the ground and thought it was just punishment for his traitorous, image-making brain. He still didn't bother to open his eyes though, let alone crawl back up on the mattress. He was tired. His carpet was soft enough and only muffled his voice a little. "Talk to him, Stiles. For the love of…all of us! Dude, if you care about the pack at all, go. talk. to. Derek."

"…Fine."

"Fine."

"But if you don't hear from me in an hour-"

"I'm not looking for you." Scott caught Stiles' indignant squawk as he pressed 'End', tossing his phone vaguely toward the door. No way he'd go looking for Stiles in this situation. Uh-uh. He had a pretty good idea of what he would find if he did.

"Beh!" The dying seal noise surfaced again along with a violent shudder. Scott groped blindly at his bed, pulling the blankets down over him and rolling around until cozily burrito-ed. He buried his head and ardently prayed that none of this would make its way into his dreams. His phone didn't ring again.


End file.
